


Angel

by absolutelyCancerous (cal1brations)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/pseuds/absolutelyCancerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She looks like an angel, in her white uniform dress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This place blows.

It's not like they send just  _anyone_  here. I mean, unless you count all the cutters and anorexics who linger in the halls, instead of their rooms or any other designated places us sickies are allowed to roam.

I've been here for seven months. And, let me just tell you, it's been the longest seven months of my life. (Isn't seven supposed to be one of those heavenly-related numbers, too? Hah.) There's no freedom; when you eat, when you sleep, when you walk around, it's all planned out for you. Because, we as patients are too "mentally incapable to make rational decisions for long-term desires".

Give me a break. Who, out of those millions of people in their "right mind", makes decisions to benefit them in the long run? Sex with a stranger? Only good in the now. Eating a whole bucket of ice cream? Only good in the moment, not so much when you're heaving from both ends.

If that's the standard, they might as well have  _everyone_  locked up in here.

No matter, no mind.

They had me in a straightjacket for the first two weeks of my stay. I remember every hour in that goddamned jacket, arms pinned up much too high to my liking, how hot it'd get in the middle of the day, and not being able to do a damn thing about it. These people are sadists, ask anyone here.

I'm on a suicide watch now—don't get me wrong, I  _like_  living, but when you've got the demons that I've got inside your head, it's best not to risk any chances. At least it's better than the jacket, though; I've got no problem with having my blood pressure taken every other hour.

This being said, however, is why when I woke up this morning, I had planned on harassing the nurse who would come to escort me around for the day. It's a game. They think they're doing this wonderful, unbelievably  _fantastic_  job, until, oh no, Soul's down—panic attack! Seizure! He's choking! Usually, though, they're complete a-holes all-around. It's kind of like they deserve it. They're  _severely_  bemused people, whom usually only mumble shitty things under their breath while dragging patients along like disease-ridden mutts. Which, sure, is who they treat the  _really_  sick ones.

Like me. But that's a can of worms for another time.

Right now, I have an appointment with harassing the next thing with a pair of legs to walk into this room.

I hear her footsteps as she comes down the hall; she's light on her feet, because they don't seem to slap against the floor like yesterday's mega-bitch, Alise. I feel my excitement making my stomach twist in knots, the sick feeling of knowing how  _evil_  you're going to get for a given situation; the churn of troublemaking is an addicting one. Just how far is she from my door? It sounds like she's two doors down the hall, but I'm never really sure. It's just an estimate, I'm no genius.

I begin to count to one hundred, to keep myself from getting up (not a good idea) or tapping my fingers or feet (a good reason to get an unneeded check-up; could be  _neurological_ ; no shit).

There is a tap of knuckles against my door when I reach forty-two.

"Hello? You awake in there?"

Her voice is amazingly sweet, for someone whom is hated by all the people she works around. I've never seen this nurse before, though. When she opens the door, she pokes her head inside first, smiling at me as I sit on the bed in complete silence— an animal waiting to be let out of my cage. She closes the door ever-so-gently behind her as she makes her way towards me.

She looks like an angel, wearing her white uniform dress. She doesn't have much of a chest, though, but I soon note this is probably the only flaw she's got, thus far.

"Good morning," she chimes in a soft voice, trying to keep it down as it  _is_ seven-thirty in the morning. This might faze normal people, but for a sickko, this is normal morning terms. This is routine, and even if we're not used to it, the white coats will make sure we very much are in as little time as possible.

"Alright, Soul," she starts, walking over to the windows and opening the blinds to let the light in. I grimace, squinting harshly as she turns back to smile at me.

"Since you seem to be scaring away all the other nurses the hospital has to offer, I was sent to give you a run." She smirks (is that  _pride_  in her eyes?), coming closer to me and holding out her hands. "So, let's see how you've been treating yourself."

Those large eyes of hers run all up and down my arms, observing pale, worn skin. This gives me the chance to look her over some more as well, and I note how much paler her own skin is compared to mine— _very_  impressive. Her hands are silky and warm and make me want to just, hump her leg or  _something_  to show how insanely gorgeous she is in my sick eyes, but that'd only degrade me back to the straight jacket, and maybe castration.

She tells me to take off my clothes, so she can see all the scars hidden under green, cotton scrubs, and I comply, standing up silently and stripping off my shirt and pants. She holds my arms out delicately and makes a show of it when she gasps at the large pink scar that runs from my left shoulder to my right hip.

"That's a pretty nasty one there, huh?"

I don't say a word. I don't  _want_  to say anything; I've decided I don't want to screw this up, or scare her away. She's the sweetest girl I've ever met, I'm positive of it. I won't talk to her. Not yet, anyway.

After she doesn't gain an answer, she sighs, patting my shoulder with a small, "You can go ahead and get dressed now," as she reaches for the clipboard she'd placed on my nightstand when she came in. She scribbles a few things down, before smiling at me again.

"We ready to go visit Doctor Stein today?"

No, we are not. I  _hate_  that man. He freaks me out. All I do when I sit in his office is count the spots on the ceiling until he decides I've had enough and lets me out of his torture cell. I consider telling Nurse Green-Eyed Angel about this, but then I remember we're not going to converse today, so I keep my mouth closed and nod quickly.

"Alright then, I'll be waiting for you right outside the door, okay Soul?"

I nod again, and watch her leave. I make a make dash for the dresser, making sure to change in record time. Can't keep the pretty lady waiting, now, can I? Wash my teeth and face, and stand in front of the door. Bring myself together. Open the door quietly to find her waiting with a bright smile plastered on that gorgeous face.

"Ready to go?" She asks.

I nod, closing the door and watch her lock it with the lanyard around her neck. What a dangerous place to keep numerous keys to freedom. What with a thick type of material like that around her neck, strangling that could be as easy as one, two, th—

I refuse to think psychotic thoughts now.

She nods at me with a giggle, beginning to walk down the hall. I instantly follow her, making a point to lean forward a little to catch a glimpse at her hand. No ring, on either of them. A very good sign. She doesn't seem to have any jewelry on, actually, not even earrings or a bracelet. This is also a nice sign—there's not much a guy could gift her with, aside from maybe flowers or clothes (of her choosing).

"So, Soul," she starts, making me jump. Her voice is loud, but it's still very sweet. "Doctor Stein has a morning therapy session with you until eight o'clock. After that I'll be waiting to take you to breakfast, alright? Sound good?"

She looks to me as I nod again, words unable to leave my mouth. Little Miss Angel stops for a moment to tilt her head at me with a small frown.

"Do you  _ever_  talk?" Frown, a complete look of perplex. "…You  _have_  to; I heard the complaints the other nurses have filed about you." She wonders aloud, sighing shortly after.

"Am I that scary?"

I shake my head at her, my lips in a small pout at her inquiry. Scary? More like  _adorable_. More like, the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen. More like cuter than a fluffy kitten falling out of a teacup.

More like, she better just watch her back, because there are people in here that would not hesitate to eat her alive.

She smiles at me a little, before she continues to walk, me following in-tow. It's almost like my legs have a mind of their own, following after her so automatically. It's like I don't even need to think about it. A feeling I could defiantly get used to, as long as she guides me to desirable destinations (like out the main doors of this ward would be a wonderful one).

She hangs a right at the end of the hall; the therapist offices are here. There's Doctor Sid, Doctor Nygus, Doctor Mjolnir, and Doctor Stein. Stein is the resident; he only handles the worst cases, like me. He's a freak and I hate him and sometimes while I sit in his office, I picture of how I would like to kill him so I can leave faster.

But those are sick thoughts. Those are part of the reason I'm here.

The gorgeous girl stops in front of a door, Stein's door to be exact, and knocks with a light tap of her fist. The door opens almost instantly, the gray-haired man poking his head out and smiling at her, lips only.

"Thank you, Maka."

Her name is Maka.

Maka.

That's the most beautiful name I've ever heard. I test it in my mind a few times. Maka. Makaaa.  _Maka_. Ma-ka. Mahka. Perfect. Her name is  _perfect_. Perfect in the air, perfect in my head, perfect in my mouth.

"Soul? Ready for our session?"

I roll my eyes, turning to Nurse  _Maka_  and offering her a parting smile. She giggles, waggling her fingers at me in a playful little wave. It's the cutest thing I've ever seen a girl do (not that I do a lot of girl-watching here in Crazyville Ward), especially with her thin, small fingers.

"I'll be waiting!" She adds with a smile. I like how her bangs bounce with every little movement of her head—I like how they sit just above her eyes, framing the sincerity in viridian oculars. I think it's a joke, but I pay it no mind. I'll pretend it's real, just for now. Just for me.

Someone is waiting for me. This is what I tell myself as I step into Doctor Stein's office, the door closing behind me, trapping me in here for my half-hour session of torture.

Maka is  _waiting_  for  _me_. How strange is that?


	2. Chapter 2

"So, Soul. Let's see…” Tap, tap tap. The sound of Stein’s pen is loud in the silent room, hitting his clipboard as he skims through my file, like it might actually be something _interesting_. “You've been good about not attacking anyone during group time," Stein officially begins, flipping through a number of pages. I stare at that folder in his lap. My entire life (medical life, I suppose), starting from age eleven is written on those pages. It's a bit depressing to think about.

"You've been good about your medication… you're not hurting _yourself_ lately… This is all good news, Soul."

I nod, sitting back on the leather couch across from the gray-haired doctor. It creaks under my weight, so I sit on my hands to stifle the sound. No such luck. Lord, I hate that noise; it makes me think of stomachaches and migraines, for whatever reason. He glances at me through thick glasses, his hazel glare staring right past my skin. I crumble inwards at his glance, let my head drop down and aim my gaze to my lap.

"Soul? Is there anything you would like to talk about today?"

It becomes so unbearably silent you can hear the clock on the wall ticking. I focus down at my lap, tense up my thighs, and then relax them. Tense, relax.

"Soul."

It sounds different when he says my name that time, stern maybe? Or possibly just concerned. I snap my head up in record time, eyes wide as I stare at the doctor. What if he knows? What if he can tell just from looking at me I'm totally obsessed with that nurse? Will he take her away? Will I be all alone again? Is it really so _obvious_?

"Tell me how the voices are."

I sigh out loud; this type of question I can answer a little easier than the “how are your feelings” questions.

I’m here for DID, anyway. Dissociative Identity Disorder. At first, it was diagnosed as schizophrenia—which, Doctor Sid still argues it is—but as of late, they’ve been putting me with Stein, for “reunion therapy”; basically, to get the other guy in my head to come under my terms.

Usually it’s from sexual abuse. Usually it’s from kids who’ve got Mommy touching their thing or Daddy groping their chest, but that wasn’t the case; my parents were a little prodigy-crazed, with my older brother’s musical talent, but they weren’t bad people. I’d never swear on my mother, if that clears the fog. I’d never tell my father I hate him, either.

So they don’t know why my head is the way it is, is the short version of the story. Stein has given up on trying to figure it out, for now—which is fine with me—and has taken to simply helping me manage it.

The process is extremely slow-going.

“Voice,” I correct him. “There’s only one of him.”

“ _Voice_. Sorry. How is he?”

"Chess is loud." I tell him, no pussy-footing around here. "He tells me he's responsible for my nightmares."

Stein is taking notes on this, scribbling something down before looking back at me and nodding, a sign for me to keep going.

"Why do you call him Chess again? I've forgotten, I'm sorry," he says, a light, sympathetic smile on his lips. He probably thinks we’re having a normal conversation, but I’m not crazy. I like to talk basketball, music, art—I know talking about my alter is not normal conversation, and it’s a little moronic that he pretends it is. I take my hands out from underneath my legs, in order to knot them up in my lap. Ah, hand-wringing—much better to calm my nerves.

"His name used to be Checkers, when he first started talking _to_ me. But he didn't like that name, he said it sounded too childish for him, so he told me to call him Chess."

Stein nods intently, writing a few more things down. This is the most I've ever talked in a session; I only know because I usually count my words, keeping my limit to 300 when I talk to him. He's surprised, I can tell. Maybe my angel-nurse has put me in a talkative mood. Maybe she’s inspired me to give a fraction of a shit.

"Ah. So _he's_ the one who gives you nightmares? Is he the one who made you hurt yourself?"

I nod. "Chess is the only voice in my head, but he doesn’t assume control that often—unless something bothers him in whatever way, I guess. There was another alter, a long time ago, but he didn't stay longer than a week. Chess protected me from him.”

Stein looks intrigued, taking notes on every word that leaves my mouth. I think a moment, about what I just said, and suddenly, I realize how crazy I am. I sound crazy. I look crazy. I **am** crazy. It's a lot to take in, over these few seconds of realization, so I stare at the doctor, trying to think of less-crazy words to say how I feel. “Unsettled” is a good word. Unstable.

“So, Chess says he’s _protecting_ you.”

Shrug. “Sometimes, he does.”

More notes are scribbled down; it’s weird, I’ve never actually felt crazy in my whole stay here, but this conversation is the first time I’ve ever noticed how insane these things sound coming out of my mouth. They sound better in my head.

_They sound better when you don’t bring them up at all._

That, too.

"Stein."

The sound of his name on my lips sounds odd, but he looks at me nonetheless, a dark grey eyebrow flicked up at me. "Yes?"

"…How long," I wet my lips, for they've become drier than shit, "how long do I have to stay here? When will I be better?"

Stein sits back in his chair. That look on his face, it's not a good one. His lips seem to squirm on his jaw, chewing around options of sentences he could be telling me. With a glance to the ceiling, he seems to have his answer, and looks back at me sympathetically with a heavy sigh, like this is a burden for _him_.

"That depends on a lot of things, Soul. If we find out how severe Chess is, we might be able to offer many types of therapy that could keep him settled down. But it depends on you, as well as other variables.

You need to start getting involved if you want to get better. That’s the bottom line."

I nod, looking down at my hands before looking back at Stein, chewing the inside of my cheek before speaking again.

"Her name…is Maka."

"Your new nurse, you mean."

A smile twitches my lips up; a sensation I've almost forgotten. My head bobs up and down slowly as I think of more words to tell him, to make him believe I'm better and sane and able to go _home_. Only sane people can lust, right? Only sane people can wonder how velvet her skin could feel against mine, head to toe?

"Yeah. She's really nice," I mumble, knotting my fingers until they crack in complaint. "I like her eyes."

"Yes, she is a very sweet girl. She was the last person I could think of that could put up with you. Maka's dealt with quite a few upset patients over her few years, and you barely hold a _candle_ to those types of fits."

What, is this some kind of competition now? Who’s the craziest? Who can assault the nurse in the least amount of time spent with her?

Still, I can’t help it, I inwardly grin. My heart could explode and it would all still be perfectly okay. I'm actually _normal_ compared to someone. I actually look like a _model member of society_ against someone. It's a new concept to me; I want to throw up my arms and scream out my relief.

But that would make me seem crazy, so I stay silent in my seat, but relax a little. I deserve to relax after knowing that, ri—

"But you're still a serious case, Soul," Stein adds, **after** I was almost happy for the first time in months. "And it's my job to help you. But you have to promise to talk more, like you did today. Can you do that for me, Soul?"

I blink at him. The joy was just sucked out of the room in less than ten words, but I bob my head with a tiny sigh. I can see him smile before glancing at the clock, and closing up my file that sits on his lap.

"Alright then, we’re done. You did a _great_ job today, Soul. Please try to have this enthusiasm tomorrow for me."

I don't bother nodding at him as I get up, and open the door quietly. I feel sick, my stomach doing back flips and front flips and wiggling side to side. In the hall, I stare at the floor, before it hits me that Maka said she'd be waiting for me.

And there she is!

She's coming down the hall, smiling at me with that wide, warm smile, two small white cups in her hand. She got my pills for me. She got my pills for me? It’s weird, because she doesn’t forcefully open my mouth or tell me to own my chaw, she just hands them to me, making sure I’m holding each little cup before she lets go of them. Our hands brush together, and hers feel like satin.

"I saw how long the line was. Didn't seem like very much fun to wait before getting some breakfast, y'know?"

I nod, popping two tablets and taking the tiny swing of water out of the cup that looks more like a thimble. Crush both cups in my hand, rolling them into a tiny ball. Have my fingers pried (more like assisted, because it seems like I can’t do anything _against_ her actions) open by Maka, who takes the paper-cup-ball out of my palm and stuffs it into her pocket with a smile.

"Now, how about some breakfast, huh? They're serving pancakes today."

Again, I nod, trailing after her back down the hall, towards the dining hall. Since I'm only a Level One here, I'm not allowed to go anywhere without a nurse, even if it's to the bathroom. She'll follow me to make sure I'm not going to smash the mirror and start stabbing myself—not that _I’ve_ done that, but it’s happened before, as well as toothbrush stabbings and toilet drownings. Usually, the suffocating company drives me crazy, as well as the other Level Ones I've spoken with. But not with Maka. Her presence seems more like a gift than an angry, overbearing sane person hovering over me. I will not waste it.

Once we reach the dining hall, Maka even bothers to wait with me to get my stack of generic, shitty pancakes, silverware (that she suggests she takes, while slipping them out from my hands) and more water, because anything else couldn't be that healthy for sickkos.

I flop down at a random seat, to merely pick apart my non-fluffy, non-tasty pancakes. I'm not very hungry, anyway, after that little chat with Stein; my brain is still thinking too hard for me to process trying to eat.

_Just have one, it won’t kill you—don’t make us get sent to the anorexia ward_.

Good call. Still, they look more like squished burger buns than pancakes; not very appetizing.

"Aren't you hungry?" Maka asks, bringing me from my conversation. I blink, before looking down at my food, and poke at it gently with a fork. That’s nasty; it barely even gives under my fork, not like pancakes should.

"Awh, come on, Soul. You really should eat, you look so skinny."

I open my mouth to fire something rude at her, like telling her to shut her fucking mouth because she can't weigh more than forty-five fucking pounds, but I quickly distinguish that it’s Chess who’s itching to tell her off like that, and I look down at my plate again to avoid hearing him snarl and hiss about her. After a moment, I pull the plate towards me, managing to down one of the stale-tasting pancakes before taking a huge swig of water and moving my plate away from me after I swallow. She smiles and hums in approval.

"See? At least you won't go hungry."

I shrug, setting my hands in my lap as I stare at the table. I try to count the small flecks of dark green paint on the light green table, but Maka doesn't let me. Instead, she gets up, and pulls me up as well. I like the feel of her velvet hands on my skin. She makes my nerves dance up and down my spine in a shuddering frenzy.

"Let's go find you something to do," she says, her face ever so warm-looking. Those pink lips… what I _wouldn't_ give to smash our faces together, lick her lips—in two different contexts—and nibble, nuzzle and bite—

It’s a little noteworthy that it is very difficult to jerk off here when you’ve got a nurse walking around with you during the day and checking on you almost every hour of the night; there’s just not enough privacy. Sue me for the anxious thoughts.

She leads me into the media room. There's only two other patients here, none of which I know. I blink at Maka as she plops down on one of the seats by the window. A far-away look crosses her face as she looks out into the world outside. I wonder if she hates it here as much as I do. She could even pass as one of the patients here, with how she seems to space out so completely as she looks at the sunny world outside.

I stand next to her, gaining her attention, apparently, because she looks up at me and smiles.

"Sorry. Anyway, you can pick something to do. It'd suck if you had to be bored _all_ day, y'know. It's not like I'm here to torture you."

She's not here to torture me. The words came out of her mouth. I saw it.

I think I'd like to marry this girl. Holy shit. Holy _shit_.

_Are you really_ that _excited? She’s doing her_ job _, Speedy._

As she stares at me, playing with one of her blonde pigtails, I look around the room. I've never really been in here, mostly because I didn't ever ask to come in here. There's not much, a few sofas, a television, a table with paper and colored felt-tip markers (because pencils and pens are too dangerous for the suicidal ones), and a piano. With a padlock on it.

Lovely. The one thing I might even _consider_ doing, and it's on lockdown. That's real fair.

I decide to sit on the edge of the window sill, next to Maka, and clear my throat. Those beautiful eyes look at me, from head to toe, waiting for me to do something. I glance at her, before looking away shyly. I've never felt like this before. My stomach has butterflies in it now, and my heart feels like it's trying to supply me with enough blood for three other people. I wring my hands.

"So," I begin. My voice is a bit scratchy from not using it in her presence previously, but I make due. "How did you become a nurse?"

She smiles, leaning back in her chair comfortably, "When I was little, I always really enjoyed helping people, I guess. I was good with bleeding and stuff, too. So I guess that's why I became a nurse. Someone's gotta do it, right?"

I grin, a lopsided one, but a grin all the same. My hand comes up to ruffle my hair, making it more out of control than it usually sits atop my head. "Yeah. Probably a good reason to pick up a profession."

Maka wriggles in her chair, to turn to me a bit more before resting her chin in her hand, like she's leaning in to hear me speak. Like she's hanging onto my every word. Like she cares.

" _My_ turn to ask _you_ something," she says with a sweet little smile. "How did _you_ become a patient?"

 


End file.
